


Hermione Granger: Prankster Extraordinaire

by Adishailan



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Attempt at Humor, Gen, Hermione Granger is a Good Friend, Hermione Granger-centric, Hogwarts First Year, Humor, If I'm missing any tags please let me know, Magic, Not Beta Read, Pranks and Practical Jokes, Prankster Hermione, Tags May Change, or - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-04
Updated: 2019-06-08
Packaged: 2019-10-04 07:58:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 17,072
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17300798
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Adishailan/pseuds/Adishailan
Summary: There's fruit tap-dancing in the great hall, knights in armour wrapped in pink feather boas, invisible kazoos plaguing the Quidditch pitch, and an invasion of gummy worms on the loose. And it *wasn't* the Weasley Twins.All this could only mean one thing:Fred and George have got some new competition on their hands.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Now, there's a lot of Dark Hermione Fics, a fair few Slytherin Hermiones and a hell of a lot of BAMF Hermiones. But where are the Prankster Hermiones? Where are the Hermiones who want to help their friends and figure out that laughter is the best medicine? Because she would 100% be amazing at it, there's no way about it.

* * *

 

Small white clouds were billowing up from the red steam train, filling the air with the smell of coal and covering the bustling platform with a thin film of fog. Past the translucent river of steam, a whole host of multicoloured cloaks, from periwinkle green to egg shell blue, were flapping behind their owners as they rushed about the platform.

Hermione stood in the middle of it, clad in a plainly styled shirt, skirt and tie, only missing the distinctive Hogwarts cloak to set her uniform aside to any other muggle student. She breathed in the steamy air and grinned from ear to ear.

Finally! Oh gosh oh gosh! Finally she was here! This was _really_ real. Well, she knew it was real since she got the letter and Professor Mcgonagall paid her parents a visit. But still! To be actually in front of the Hogwarts Express, _actually_ about to go to an _actual_ school of wizardry it was so- _so_ -

“Amazing! Fantastic! Stupendous!” She exclaimed spinning around to face her parents, excitement shining clearly in her wide brown eyes.

Her parents gazed around in awe, but couldn’t look quite as enthusiastic as their excitable daughter. (An impossible feat to be sure). Hermione didn’t even notice as she span back and scanned her surroundings.

“Look Dad! Can you see all the owls? And look at all those cats. Is that one purple? It must be a Keezle. Mum! I can’t believe we’re here! There are so many people!”

Hermione’s parents exchanged a fond look before drawing their daughter into a tight hug.

“Oh I’m going to miss her questions,” her mum laughed, her gentle hands coming up to straighten out her tie.

“Make sure to make as many friends as you can. And write to us, Minny. I know phones don’t work well with magic and all but we still want to hear from you,” chimed in her dad, tucking a stray strand of frizz behind Hermione’s ear and tapping the tip of her nose. 

Hermione just grinned at them, too excited to register that her parents were saying goodbye. Instead her mind was entirely focused on getting on that magical train, seeing all her future classmates and possibly seeing some magic! Of course, she had seen some already, seeing as she’d tried a few spells herself. Just a few basic ones and they _had_ worked fine. But she was sure that all those wizard-born students must know so much more than her! Perhaps she could use this as a chance to ask them some questions and catch up to their level just a bit.

With the help of her Mum and an attempt at help from her Dad, Hermione got her luggage up into an almost empty compartment. It’s only occupant was a rather upset looking boy with large ears who seemed to be searching for something. She frowned at the boy, then glanced back at her parents who were waiting by the door on the platform with faint, sad smiles.

“We’ll have to be off now, Mini-me,” said her mum. “We need to get back in time for the afternoon session at the practice.”

“Okay,” returned Hermione, still half-watching the worried looking boy from the corner of her eyes.

Kisses and goodbyes were given, as well as her Dad’s patented hug which incorporated a mixture of a bear hug and swinging Hermione around so fast her legs went flying. She burst into peels of laughter and ducked away from her Dad’s head ruffling ways.

And then they were gone.

Whistles sounded and doors slammed as Hermione stared out of the window, her excited smile dimming slightly, before shaking her head and turning to face the worried looking boy.

“Hello, I’m Hermione Granger,” she informed him, standing behind him and giving him her friendliest smile. The boy stopped frantically searching through his trunk and glanced round at her with round eyes, as if he hadn’t even realised she had joined him.

“Oh, er, hi. I’m Neville. Neville Longbottom,” he said, trying to give her a smile back, but instead giving her mouthful of wonky teeth bared in a rather uncivilised grimace. Hermione wasn’t daunted by this though; Neville clearly had something on his mind.

“You’ve lost something, haven’t you? I can help you find it,” she told him.

Neville, it turned out, had lost something. His toad to be precise. He had it a few minutes ago in the corridor but when he came back it was gone. Hermione, never one to turn down the opportunity to possibly make a friend, volunteered to help him find it at once and devised a cunning plan.

“Let’s split up and search for clues.”

Neville didn’t get the reference but that was fine. He had talked with her and tried to smile with her. And if she could get him to like her, surely she could get others to as well.

 _See Dad_ , she thought to herself as she made her way down the train. _I am making friends already, just like you said._  

She searched each and every compartment she came across. Giving smiling introductions while scanning the floor for any hint of bubbly toad skin or drops of slime.

Most of the students seemed nice. Some of the older ones were even happy to answer some of her questions about houses and spells. Most of the ones from her year seemed utterly clueless though. Case and point, the famed Harry Potter and rather rude Ron Weasley. She was surprised that someone renowned to have once defeated ‘He Who Must Not Be Named’ hadn’t even bothered to open a single book about himself. How moronic! They didn’t even thank her for letting them know they were reaching the station soon. Some of the others did though, and that was all the encouragement that Hermione needed to go and let several other coach-loads of children know.

There seemed to be more of the older students towards each end of the train, with the younger years in the middle. Hermione was walking down the end of the train, lips curled up in a happy grin, as she knocked on a new door. Inside, most of the students seemed to be dressed in green, with two or three in blue. They were probably a few years older than her, but Hermione wouldn’t be daunted even if the expressions on their faces made her want to be.

“What do you want?” Asked one of the girls in green, looking her up and down.

“Hi,” said Hermione with a friendly smile. “I’m Hermione Granger, and I-”

“She didn’t ask your name,” said a boy with a blue tie and dark eyes, exchanging a glance with the others who’s expressions had grown somewhat cooler.

“Oh. I just wanted to let people know we’re arriving soon.”

“We know,” said the first girl. “So you can go now, muggle.”

“… Muggles can’t go to Hogwarts since they don’t have magic. I’m muggle _born_ , not a muggle,” Hermione corrected them, hands on her hips and frown on her face.

There was a stretch of silence and Hermione found herself lowering her hands to her sides.

“…As she said, you should go now, _muggle_.”

Hermione glanced around the group before hesitantly turning to go, walking quickly away from that carriage. Unfortunately, not quickly enough to avoid hearing their final words.

“Merlin, I hope that one’s not in my house.”

“Sorry, but that’s a swot there through and through. Looks like the claws are getting yet another mu-”

The door to the next carriage shut behind her, blocking out their voices. Hermione moved away from it to stand by one of the windows lining the right side of the train, mouth set in a tight line and hands clenched as she stared at the darkening mountains rushing past. 

For how long she stood like that, she did not know. All she knew was that she didn’t yet feel much better when she heard someone walking through the carriage door behind her. There was a moment of silence when the walker seemed to pause but Hermione didn’t look around, still trying her best to steady her breathing and stop her chin from quivering.

Then there was a sound; a funny little sound like the flaring of a match but much quieter, like a hissed whisper, and something flew into her face.

It exploded and she yelped, almost falling backwards as she speedily skittered away, only to stop short as she registered the lack of heat and what it was that she was seeing. It was a firework explosion, made up of fluttering purple and spinning gold sparks which crackled softly before dissolving into a fizzing red afterglow. She gazed at the smokey afterimage in surprise then around and up at the perpetrator.

“…You’re not supposed to use magic in the corridors,” she told the tall red-head boy who was grinning unrepentantly down at her. Her wide eyes then narrowed into a scrutinising frown. “Why were you trying to scare me? That’s not nice.”

“On the contrary, firsty. I’m being very nice. Look, you’re not about to cry anymore.”

Hermione blinked bewilderedly at this but before she could even try to refute this, the boy carried on talking.

“Besides, pranks aren’t about making people _scared_. They’re a part of Hogwarts great and noble history!” He proclaimed, clapping a hand to his chest and wiping an imaginary tear from his eye with the other. Hermione noticed the box in that hand, reading the writing on its side at a lightning fast speed.

**_Dr Filibuster's Fabulous Wet-Start, No-Heat Fireworks._ **

Mutely, Hermione looked from the box of magic fireworks back to the boy who sent her a wink with a knowing grin, before turning and walking away.

Several cheerful voices called out greetings as he made his way down the train and Hermione stared after him.

... _People seem to like him, don’t they?_

She blinked again and shook her head. Was what he said really true? How could playing pranks of all things be noble? And she highly doubted it was such a large part of Hogwarts history. She hasn’t seen any chapters on it in ‘Hogwarts: a History’. But perhaps there was something in ‘An Appraisal of Magical Education in Europe’, or ‘Modern Magical History’ or maybe even in a sub-section of ‘Sites of Historical Sorcery’.

Hermione rushed back to her compartment, ready to wrestle down her trunk and stick her nose into a book for the rest of the journey, only to stop short as she caught sight of the platform they were pulling up at. A jubilant grin formed on her face and, for once, all thoughts of books vanished from her head.  She dashed over to the window of her compartment, startling the sniffling Neville who’d obviously had even less luck than her in hunting down his toad. She paid him little mind though, instead staring out at the inky black platform she was to depart onto.

She was finally at Hogwarts! Oh how fantastic! This was going to be amazing!

 

* * *

 

And it was amazing… at first. With it’s grand sweeping staircases (one hundred and forty-two of them to be precise) and ancient sprawling lands, Hermione couldn’t think of anyone who wouldn’t be deeply impressed with this school.

It had been a bit tricky to get to grips with and even understand why and how the stairs were enchanted to change all the dratted time or lead up to different floors depending on the time of day or month, but her excitement at the massive scale of magic involved was enough to wash these complaints away. Hogwarts had this great sense of age to it, as if it had been standing for thousands of years and would continue to stand until the end of time. It had a way of making Hermione feel very small one moment, then incredibly frustrated and excited the next. She found herself scribbling down notes every minute of the day the first few weeks, trying to understand the timing of different doors becoming locked and unlocked, to remember where the trick steps were and how best to avoid Peeves’s hunting grounds.

To say Hermione didn’t like Peeves was like saying grass was green, or the sky was blue. It was overly simplistic and did not capture the range of irritation, disgust and disbelief that made up her dislike. His ideas of jokes and humour were horrible and crude to her mind. But there _was_ a sense of delight in succeeding to avoid his awful pranks. There was a sense of delight to _everything_ in Hogwarts.

The classes themselves were even better than moving staircases and one-upping cowardly bullies. The theory of transfiguration was deeply engrossing. It was definitely one of the more complex aspects of magic in that it required completely changing the chemical structure of the item being transfigured. Hermione found the challenge exhilarating. Professor McGonagall even gave her ten house points for knowing about switching spells and Gamp’s Law of Elemental Transfiguration.

Charms was her favourite subject after Transfiguration. Professor Flitwick was kind, a fantastic teacher and, on an ever so slightly lesser note, a Master Duelist. She had yet to do any magic in his class but she was not put off by this. The fundamentals and theory behind it were more than enough for her to sink her teeth into.

She only wished that some of the other teachers shared her favourite professors’ teaching styles. She had really been looking forward to Defence Against the Dark Arts but soon found she was better off learning from books than the distractible and distant Professor Quirrel, and while Professor Binns did know a lot about goblin wars, he _never_ talked to the class properly or even asked questions. Half of the class were asleep for crying out loud! _And he never noticed!_

But the worst by far was Professor Snape.

The man was a bully. Plain and simple. He ignored her with a smirk, tore into Neville with a passion, and was cruel and malicious to anyone not sporting a green trim to their cloaks. She did her best though, as she did with each and every subject and for each and every teacher. She was able to brew potions for boils and hiccoughing and cook up a nasty little herbicide to an almost perfect standard. She wasn’t _exactly_ sure why they weren’t deemed perfect when her herbicide looked the same as Draco Malfoy’s whose was used as an example to the class, but she could have a good guess. She debated asking her parents to send more potion supplies so she could practice outside of class but unsupervised potion brewing was against the rules. So that idea was quickly nipped in the bud.

So, with little other options, Hermione spent most of her time reading books to improve on her potion making. Then she read books on how to cast defensive spells to improve on Defence Against the Dark Arts. And then she read books on all her other subjects too, because she could. She loved spending her spare time sat in the library, at the lovely mahogany desks with a pile of books circling around her like a barricade against the outside world. Or perhaps she would be sat in one of the squishy leather chairs in a corner, her books illuminated by a beam of cool autumnal sunshine. Hermione sometimes thought she lived for those hushed Friday afternoons and warm weekends of quiet relaxation and study.

At least, that’s what she thought for the first two weeks or so. It had now been almost three weeks since she arrived at Hogwarts and, despite her best efforts, Hermione hadn’t made a single friend. She had mentioned her upcoming birthday to her fellow Gryffindors what must have been ten times, and the only one of them to remember had been Neville.

She sat at her usual table in the library, staring at the hastily made card he’d given her that morning, before he’d dashed back to chat to his dorm mates. Then she glanced over at the card and present her parents had sent to her: a year’s subscription to ‘Challenges in Charming’ which was a fascinating if difficult read. There were several recommendations for great books to read, moving illustrations on the long term effects of permanent charms and there was even a section which gave several new spells which had Hermione itching to whip out her wand. She should have been happy.

But it was her birthday and she was alone.

She forced down a quiet sniff and rubbed her eyes harshly with the back of her hand. She was fine. She was doing well. Her professors had no complaints and she was earning house points faster than anyone else, even if no one particularly seemed to care about it. She shook her head forcibly and plucked up a new book to read. Only to stop short when she registered the title.  

‘ _An Appraisal of Magical Education in Europe_ ’

Oh. She forgot! She was going to look into the ‘grand and noble history’ of pranksters, or whatever that Weasley twin had said.

Having lived in the Gryffindor tower for a few weeks, even if she really only went there to sleep right now, it would have been impossible not to have heard of the Weasley twins. They were, in a word, a menace. But they were a popular menace. You couldn’t go a day without overhearing someone gushing about something they did, whether it was an old and famous prank or something smaller but more recent. Hermione hadn’t been on the receiving end of any of these pranks, beyond the strange use of the mini firework on the train, but she had seen the evidence of them. The parrots kept in the transfiguration classrooms didn’t teach _themselves_ how to swear after all.

It was strange how everyone still seemed to like them though, even after they lost loads of house points… Perhaps people really did like pranks in Hogwarts? Hermione frowned softly at the idea and started flicking through the education appraisal. There didn’t _seem_ to be any mention of pranks. However, Hogwarts _was_ described as:

 ‘ ** _more lighthearted and relaxed than other schools in the United Kingdoms in that they frequently allow their students free time to pursue more unique extra curricular hobbies. Their, at times humorous, attitude towards learning is aptly illustrated by their rather unique school motto: ‘Draco Dormiens Nunquam Titillandus’ which roughly translates to ‘Never tickle a sleeping dragon_** ’.

Hermione stared at this for a moment then her lip quirked up with a stifled laugh. What a ridiculous motto! She had read about it before of course but the translations varied and most books took on too much of a serious tone to write the word ‘tickle’.

Hermione closed the book, her thoughts awhirl. She had read about a charm on tickling recently, hadn’t she? She turned to the pile of books to her right side, opening up Standard Book of Spells Grade 2 (she had already read her way through Grade one during the holidays and had been ecstatic to find a whole section of the library dedicated to the series on her second day).

There it was, Rictusempra! Huh. It seemed to be a spell used in duels… which wasn’t allowed outside of duelling classes. Hermione felt her face fall as she closed the book again, her strange half formed plans of making a potential friend laugh evaporating in the face of the Hogwarts rules.

What _was_ allowed then? Hermione pondered as she pulled out her copy of ‘Hogwarts: A History’ from her bag and started searching for the comprehensive list of all of Hogwarts’ rules. She remembered them to be rather confusing and disjointed in their phrasing. For example, in 1948, a rule was put forward that stated:

‘ **Students are permitted to wear non- uniform clothing during non-class time.** ’

However a previous rule, about how students could be suspended for disrespecting the hallowed Hogwarts uniform by not wearing their school ties all the time, was still in place. And this was just regarding uniform! The rules on spell-casting outside of class was even more of a convoluted mess. Hermione was starting to realise why Headmaster Dumbledore’s explanation of the school rules at the start of term feast had been so brief now.

So… if she took the rules she had _verbally_ been given into account, then she could be fine? She would need to make sure not to go to the third floor corridor (which she wasn’t planning on doing anyway), not to do anything after curfew (which was understandable), never to go into the forbidden forest (also understandable) and not cast spells in corridors between classes. That last one… did they mean between classrooms or the classes during the day? If she cast a spell in the evening for example, would she still be disciplined?

This was all in theory of course, Hermione reminded herself. She highly doubted all this would be applicable to her as she _wasn’t_ going to be doing pranks. It was completely immature and beneath her… Yes. What was she thinking? As if she would lower herself to such a level. She snapped the book shut and went back to her normal reading.

After all, Hermione Granger was no prankster!


	2. Chapter 2

* * *

 

Hermione’s determination not to lower herself to the likes of Peeves or the Weasley twins lasted all of one week, and came to a shattering halt early one Tuesday morning.

Neville had been crying. It was breakfast time, everyone was chatting happily and Neville had been crying. His face was blotched and his eyes were red, even if he tried to hide it with a smile. Hermione carefully eyed up the group of boys around him, frowning softly when they all continued to mess around, flicking cereal at each other and laughing. Harry seemed to be watching Neville too but he didn’t say anything, simply eating his food and occasionally smiling as someone talked to him.

_It was probably nightmares,_ Hermione decided. _Caused by that horrific Cerberus, and perhaps also by the fact he’d been thrown off a broom and fallen over twenty metres the other day._

Hermione glowered faintly at Ron and Harry again but they ignored her so she turned her glare down at her toast and wondered what she could do. She knew what people said about her ( _busybody, swot, annoying_ ) even if she did her best to ignore the inaccurate blatherings of simple minded fools. As a result, she knew she couldn’t very well walk over there and demand Neville for to tell her what was wrong and how she could help. Everyone would be rude and Neville most likely would be too embarrassed to tell her near that oafish lot. Excluding greetings and the like, Neville hardly spoke to her out of class unless she talked to him first… but he was still nice to her when she did and he did give her a birthday card. Of all the people in this school, Neville was the last one she wanted to see cry.

... _So what if I could help in a different way_ , she thought, eyes widening as she suddenly thought back to what the Weasley twin said to her back on the train.

_“I’m being very nice. Look, you’re not about to cry anymore.”_

Crying. No longer crying! What if she did something to cheer him up? Like the firework but, oh, she didn’t have one! What could she-

Her eyes, which were  wildly scanning her surroundings for inspiration a moment prior, fell on the fruit bowl placed directly in front of Neville. For once, she didn’t think about rules. She didn’t think about the teachers at the table, or whether magic was allowed in the great hall. She didn’t think about any of that. She pulled out her wand, aimed and whispered:

“Pullulant tarantallegra.”

Quick as a whip, Hermione tucked her wand away and glanced around to make sure no one had seen her. No one had. They all seemed to be focusing on food or their own conversations. But not for long.

There was a startled shout, and Neville almost fell off the bench as the apple he was about to eat sprouted spindly little legs and hopped out of his hand. The boys all stopped talking and joined Neville to stare in bewilderment as a banana and pear sprouted legs too and joined the apple on Neville’s plate.

There was a moment of silence in the group and Neville looked around, his expression torn between wariness and confusion. Hermione quietly wondered if she had made a mistake.

Then the fruit started to tap dance; the apple and pear in perfect synchronisation while the banana wobbled and clattered to catch up, accidentally knocking over a cup of water. Neville choked on a startled laugh and the boys burst into hysterics. 

Hermione listened to that laughter, saw the red, blotchy flush fade from her almost-friend’s face, and, from that moment on, she was hooked.

 

* * *

 

Pranking was fun. Hermione couldn’t deny it to herself even though she would if asked. Not that anyone did. No one suspected her to be the sort to delight in mischief. Not in a million years.

Of course, it was only down to good luck that no one saw her that first time. She had been quite foolish in the way she went about it. It was a miracle no one saw her. The next few times she was more subtle, and much more prepared.

She practiced quite hard at whispered casting and had even started researching nonverbal spells (although it looked rather complex and would need a great deal of study and practice). Even if what she was planning on doing wasn’t strictly against the rules, she still didn’t want to invite trouble.

But oh what plans she devised! That very evening, after the tap dancing fruit, Hermione had penned a letter to her parents with several, rather bizarre requests. First and foremost, she had asked for several bottles of ink, having caught sight of Harry Potter’s colour changing ink and becoming quite inspired. She also asked for several boxes of toothpaste, ten jars of long lasting mayonnaise, a pack of multicoloured feathers, a large set of miniature, plastic googily eyes and as many small, cheap alarm clocks as they could find.

Needless to say, her parents were bewildered by the list but her explanation that she was using them for magic and to help her friends was enough of a distraction for them not to question it _too_ much.

(“ _Hermione has friends! I told you she would be fine_.”)

This whole pranking enterprise had also turned out to be quite educational as well as fun. Hermione had to carefully study how colour changing ink worked and discovered a nifty looking spell called ‘Colovaria’ to do this, along with a rather complex but practical way to layer the spell with a touch sensitive trigger.

( _Neville gave a strangled laugh as he ran his finger down the potions book and neat, colourful writing spiralled out from under his touch:_

_He yanked his hand away as Professor Snape stalked over, only for the colourful ink to fade away into a barely legible brown, almost impossible to spot against the parchment unless you knew it was there._ )

Wingardium leviosa has not yet been taught in charms but Professor Flitwick had been teaching them about the pronunciation and wrist movements. The Standard Book of Spells Grade One had a good model for the levitation spell too. The problem was that Hermione had very little control of the items once the spell was cast and she needed to move them in a specific way. Mobili on the other hand proved very apt in moving a specified item the way she wished, and didn’t require an overtly obvious wand motion.

Engorgio could be cast on the items beforehand and Mobilioculi could be cast quite a distance away from behind a statue or tapestry covered awning. Not that she would have got in trouble, she was casting in the corridors _outside_ of lessons after all.

( _Harry Potter and Ron Weasley drifted to a stop, staring open mouthed at the once noble and grand suits of armour that lined the way to Transfiguration, which were now all clad in pink feather boas and giant googily eyes. Ron choked on his own spit and Harry had to hit him on the back_.)

Switching spells were a must too for the more publicly timed pranks and for once she was getting to use her cauldron outside of the dungeons, even if she wasn’t making potions. Of course she couldn’t prepare these prank in the library, or in Snape’s lessons, but a lucky discovery about a month into school had allowed her the opportunity to crack out the cauldron.

Hermione, amongst many other first year girls, had quickly discovered that using the second floor’s girls bathroom as a _bathroom_ was a mistake not worth repeating. The others had discovered this through fountaining toilets, rains of soggy tissue paper and horrible messages written on the bathroom mirrors. Hermione discovered it by stumbling her way in, still teary eyed and queasy from her first attempt at flying, only to look up and see a ghost girl grinning delightedly down at her.

It turned out that Moaning Myrtle liked girls who cried and honestly didn’t mind keeping quiet about Hermione’s unconventional use of a cauldron in exchange for an occasional conversation and a sympathetic ear. She also offered to watch Hermione test a few of her thoroughly researched potions on herself if she ever got up the nerve to move on from simple cookery.

(“ _Blegh! What the hell?!” Exclaimed Dean Thomas spitting out the bite of donut he’d just taken. Seamus Finnigan leaned over and examined the rejected pudding, picking it up and sniffing it._

_“Is that mayonnaise?” He asked incredulously._

_Down the table several other Gryffindors were spitting out their puddings, wiping off smears of toothpaste from their chins with disgusted expressions, making those around them burst into laughter_.)

So far the trickiest and most dubiously funny prank (for the victims at least) that Hermione had pulled had to have been the alarm clock prank. It had taken a lot of practice and warped clocks to get the duplication and patch-job disillusionment charm to _somewhat_ work together. And even then she had to combine it with her colour changing charm to camouflage it more effectively to the red drapes in the Gryffindor bedrooms. The sticking charm was much more easy to cast, even if she did find the green gluey mucus produced by it rather hard to wash out. In the end, the _most_ challenging part of the whole endeavour was keeping a straight face on Sunday morning as Ron Weasley stormed down the stairs (still clad in his oversized pyjamas and sporting the most ludicrous bed hair) with a face like thunder.

“I’M GONNA KILL THEM! I’M BLOODY WELL GOING TO KILL THEM!”

Hermione frowned over her book, making sure to cover her twitching lips as she watched her classmate storm over to where the Weasley twins had previously been sat by the fire, discussing something in low voices. They were now stood up though, watching their furious brother with shared amusement.

“It was _you_! You two! Can’t you pull your heads from your asses and pull an _actually_ funny prank for once?!”

“Do my ears deceive me, Fred?” Asked the twin on the left, presumably George, in an overly surprised tone. “Is our brother dearest asking to be a part of our jokes?”

“I believe he is, dear George!” Exclaimed the other, who Hermione was now suspecting to be George given how they were emphasising each other’s names. “I believe we have just the prank ready and waiting. But first-”

“-Before we get into that frankly _messy_ business-” Fred chimed in with an evil grin.

“-We need to know-”

“- What unfunny prank-"

"-you think we pulled.”

Ron, who had started to look a bit apprehensive at Fred’s thinly veiled threat, regained his previous level of red- faced fury at a lightning fast speed. “You bloody well know, you prats. You stuck a load of invisible alarm clocks to our beds. We can’t shut them off!”

Hermione covered her laugh with a cough and quickly looked back down at her book. The Weasley twins had no such compunctions about laughing and started snorting unashamedly.

“Wasn’t us, dear brother,” grinned George, slouching over and wrapping an arm around Ron’s shoulders, despite his attempts to shrug him off.

“Yes, as if we would be so tame as to stop at alarm clocks,” Fred added in, ruffling Ron’s already bed ruffled hair.

“But all those pranks lately! The toothpaste biscuits, the suits of amour, the _toilet bombs_ ,” Ron said, voice rising in incredulity as he shoved off Fred’s hand.

“Wasn’t us,” Fred stated with a shrug.

“Well, the last one was us. The rest though…” George hummed and turned to Fred with a curious look. “You think we’ve got some friendly competition?”

“I’d say _too_ friendly,” said Fred, sitting back down on the sofa and casually crossing his legs. “They’ve all been kids stuff so far.”

“I dunno, I like that alarm trick and knights prank,” George argued back, detaching himself from Ron to join Fred on the squashy sofa.

“The knight thing was hardly a _prank_ really, more like an art show,” returned Fred, much to Hermione’s quiet irritation. That one had taken her ages and she even heard some of the Slytherins laughing about it!

Ron, frustrated to be so suddenly dismissed by his brothers, opened his mouth (presumably to put his foot in it) only to be tugged back by a sleepy looking Harry who’d just emerged downstairs, a copy of ‘Hogwarts: a History’ in hand.

“We got them Ron, they were on the curtains. Turns out all you have to do is hit them really hard with something heavy and they shut up.”

“Like your style Potter,” called out Fred before turning back to George and continuing his whispered plotting.

Hermione ducked back down into her book again as Harry and Ron passed her, both barely casting her a second glance as she continued to visibly ignore them, much like she’d been doing ever since the incident of the three headed dog in the nighttime.

“So was it them?” Harry was asking, yawning exhaustedly.

“They said it wasn’t but I bet it was. They’re such-”

Fortunately, Hermione didn’t get to hear what the Weasley twins were, as the two had opened their bedroom door just in time for the second wave of invisible alarm clocks to go off.

 

* * *

 

It wasn’t just Ron who suspected the Weasley twins however. Pretty much the entirety of Gryffindor did, including the head of Gryffindor. Or so Hermione heard.

… Of course, there was no way they were going to get in trouble for Hermione’s little jokes. It wasn’t like any of them broke Professor Dumbledore’s rules. Anyway, she’s been really careful not to leave any evidence, pointing to her or _anyone_ else. Which is probably why people pinned it on them.

Hermione tried not to feel guilty. Fred and George seemed to find the whole thing funny after all. The problem was the googily eye prank. Looking back on it, she _had_ been rather over enthusiastic about putting as many of the engorged plastic eyes and feather boas up as possible, and had quite forgotten about the person who would have to take them down.

Filch wasn’t happy. Children scattered from his path as he prowled around with a bucket full of plastic eyes and feather scarfs, and a fierce look in his red-rimmed, watery eyes. It didn’t help that Fred and George had slipped some overpowered belch powder into Ron’s drink at lunch the other day,  resulting in a rather embarrassing show that Filch had to clean up with a mop and bucket.

Even from the wary distance that Hermione kept from the school’s caretaker, she could see his gnarled hands twist into fists and his bulging eyes twitch at the mere whisper of a prank. And, there weren’t many students who didn’t hear him loudly proclaim how he was going to string the Weasley twins up in the dungeons by their ankles. Hermione doubted this would actually happen somehow but it still made her nervous on the behalf of the apparently unconcerned redheaded troublemakers. They _did_ half bring it on themselves… but Hermione had brought the other half, and perhaps she should be held accountable for it… but in a way that wouldn’t come back to her and result in her getting in trouble.

Perhaps she could create someone to blame for these pranks. A pseudonym or a made up alter ego like all those comic book superhero characters that her old primary school classmates liked so much. But nothing so silly of course. She wasn’t going to call herself superwoman or wonder girl or some such nonsense. No, Hermione would have to go for something a bit more classy…

It took her a few days and a few books to decide on her potential calling card. M. She’d go by M. For Moriarty, or the head of MI6 from James Bond, or her parent’s nick name for her, or maybe even for Moaning Myrtle. But mainly because M is the opposite of W. She wanted credit for her own pranks thank you very much.

Of course, she’d have to do something quite big and rather inspired to be able to sign it off with a calling card. Her next series of pranks consisted of kind little messages, pillows enchanted to snore and a charmed frog mug for Neville. These weren’t really things that screamed M: master prank genius at work. Even the alarm clock prank, which Hermione did feel a little guilty about after seeing Neville yawn throughout Sunday lunch, wasn’t that big. She didn’t want to hurt anyone though. She wasn’t a bully. She just wanted to make people laugh. It made her feel like she was helping somehow, which Hermione liked.

_I have to do something big **and** nice then_, she thought to herself as she walked to charms on Halloween. It would also have to be done in a way that Fred and George wouldn’t get blamed… something really public while they have an alibi.

And it would _have_ to be funny.


	3. Chapter 3

* * *

 

The Troll had not been a funny prank. Whoever let it in had the worst sense of humour imaginable. But Hermione couldn’t bring herself to be angry, even if she had almost been killed.

They didn’t hate her. Ron and Harry, that is. They came to _save_ her. They put their own lives at risk to help her. _Her_.

Hermione stared up at the drapes encompassing her bed, for once not bounding out at first light to gather arm loads of books or check over her potion notes. No, instead she simply lay there, the memory of screams echoing through her head.

(“ _Hermione!”_

_“Hermione move_!”)

They saved her and Hermione wouldn’t forget it. Even if they were rude, even if Ron called her a teachers pet or Harry shrugged her off, she _wouldn’t_ forget it.

With a toothy smile, Hermione finally pulled back the covers and got ready for the day. Perhaps she could do something for them, other than covering their backs like she did yesterday. A part of her still balked at the fact she had lied to a Professor and to Professor McGonagall no less! But that was only a part of her. Her sense of reason, loyalty and justice all seemed to be in agreement that she had made the right choice, even if she was still having some difficulty purging her favourite professor’s disappointed expression from her mind.

She put forth another wave of effort to expel this image as she made her way out of her dormitory and down the drafty hallways to breakfast. Instead of worrying over her head of house, she made herself wonder what she could do to help Harry and Ron in return for last night. Perhaps she could research a way to check Ron’s food and drink for pranks? Or find Harry some books on Quidditch? Or perhaps she could create a prank for Malfoy to make them both laugh (she had no doubt in her mind that the blond bully deserved it. She’d heard the things he sneered about, and to, her and her classmates.)

Her mind was still awhirl with plots and plans as she entered the great hall. So much so that it took her a moment to notice her name was being called.

“-mione! Earth to Hermione. You there?”

Startled, Hermione looked around and caught sight of Ron, next to an exhausted but happy looking Harry, waving at her from further up the table from where she was about to sit.

She blinked, surprised, but went to join them without comment.

“You looked miles away Hermione,” commented Harry in an easy tone, helping himself to a ladle full of porridge.

“I think half of me is still in my bed,” Hermione said, voice quiet but warm. Harry grinned in agreement with that.

“So who else’s still got the smell of rotten eggs up their nose?” Ron asked.

“Who else still has the smell of rotten eggs on their wand?” Returned Harry with a grimacing laugh.

“I can help with that… if you like.”

Harry and Ron raised their eyebrows at her uncharacteristically uncertain tone but Harry took out his slightly mucky looking wand anyway and passed it over, in a breathtaking show of trust. Hermione didn’t hesitate to repay it.

“Mollis scourgify,” she carefully enunciated, beaming as gentle little bubbles frothed over Harry’s wand and melted away to reveal shiningly clean wood.

“Wow thanks, I didn’t know magic could clean stuff like that,” said Harry, picking up the wand and smiling at Hermione.

“What are you talking about? My mum uses that spell all the time. Usually just the second part though.”

And so the conversation turned, both Harry and Hermione curious about what other spells Mrs Weasley used in day to day life and how wizard home life differed from that of muggles. Hermione listened, enraptured by what a bemused Ron thought was banal, entirely forgetting her earlier nerves in the face of two new friends.

 

* * *

 

Pranking fell on a bit of a back burner after that. Her weekends were no longer spent in the library or in Moaning Myrtle’s bathroom (although she still tried to visit and practice there for at least half an hour on most Friday afternoons) but she didn’t find herself missing the more solitary moments. Hermione now found her spare time taken up with chatter, games of chess, shared homework sessions and visits to Hagrid the Gameskeeper.

That’s not to say Hermione didn’t still do a few little pranks. Malfoy sometimes found his dinner a bit too salty after the lid of his salt shaker was mysteriously loosened, (most often whenever Ron or Harry needed a laugh) and Neville still received his croaking frog mug in the post one day, beaming at the misconstrued idea that someone in his family sent it to him. Most of the help Hermione gave her new friends wasn’t so hidden now. Bluebell flames became something of a specialty of hers in the cooling weather, which Ron was particularly pleased with. Harry seemed more grateful for her help proofreading his homework, what with him having so many Quidditch training sessions hanging over him. Wood really was pushing Harry quite hard.

_Maybe too hard_ , Hermione found herself thinking at breakfast one day, watching as an exhausted Harry almost face planted into his cereal. It was Friday, which meant double potions then another bout of quidditch practice for Harry, followed by his first match tomorrow. Hermione feared that Harry might fall asleep on his broom at this rate. Really! What was Wood thinking? She rather thought that she should do something about this, but only if-

A soft screech sounded out, distracting Hermione from watching Harry try to peal back his eyelids by drinking copious amounts of sugary pumpkin juice. One of the School owls, one with sleek tawny feathers, had landed atop one of the PuffyOwls cereal boxes, making Hermione smile. That is, before she registered her name on the letter and box clasped in its claws.

Ron, as well mannered and as of minding of his own business as usual, asked: “Wots ‘at ‘ermionee?” through a mouthful of cereal.

It was probably the cheep pack of kazoos Hermione asked her parents for. Or at least, she hoped it was. Ignoring Ron (other than to send a mildly disgusted look at his table manners) she opened the letter and tried to think of how to answer him.

Hermione didn’t like lying. She could do it and she _had_ done it. But it didn’t sit right with her to lie to Harry and Ron, to lie to her _friends_. So most of the time she simply lied by omission. 

“It’s from my parents. They’re sending me some thing I didn’t think to pack. They say hi by the way.”

Hermione wanted to tell Harry and Ron about her little side-hobby. She really did. But… well… Ron was still a bit resentful about the alarm clock prank (even if she had heard the others laughing about it) and while Harry seemed ambivalent about pranks, she didn’t know him well enough yet to judge his reaction. They’d _probably_ both be alright with it but the heart of the matter was that Hermione just wasn’t that great at pranking yet. Wouldn’t it be so much better to reveal it to them after a really big joke? It would be a long term prank of a sort. They would never suspect her and she could imagine the expressions of surprise on their faces when they found out.

Ron nodded, oblivious to Hermione’s glazed daze, and glanced down the table as their classmates started to leave for their first lessons of the day.

“Ugh. Is it that time already? You think we’d get in trouble if we skipped potions just for once.” 

“Yes,” said Hermione, snapping out of her daydream at once. Harry nodded sleepily beside her.

“You two are no fun,” sighed Ron as they all stood up. “You’ll both wish you’d listened to me, mark my words.”

Sure enough, Ron was proven right. Although Hermione still wouldn’t have skipped a lesson in a million years. Even if Ron and Harry _were_ right about Professor Snape being up to something, she would still have gone. Mainly to distract Professor Snape while Ron stopped Harry from accidentally drowning himself in a caldron full of weed killer.

By the time they had gotten out of the freezing dungeons, Harry looked dead on his feet. Hermione and Ron exchanged a glance.

“You’ve still got a few hours until the others are let out for Quidditch practice, Harry. You should go have a rest.”

“…Don’t need it…”

Ron rolled his eyes and swung an arm over Harry’s shoulder, making to lead him back to the common room.

“You guys go ahead,” said Hermione when Ron sent back a questioning glance at her for not following. “I have some business to attend to. See you later.”

She waved them off with a sharp smile, waiting until the oblivious Harry and the mildly bemused Ron had gotten out of eyesight before bundling up her distinctive hair into the school hat she kept in her satchel and folding over the distinctive Gryffindor trim to her cloak. Satisfied with her appearance, Hermione turned towards the exit of the Western Hall and walked out onto the school grounds. She grinned, her package of kazoos clattering quietly in her satchel as she skipped all the way down to Quidditch pitch.

 

* * *

 

“Right!” Called out Wood, clapping his hands together with a grin. “Enough stretches, lets set up a race and pump up that blood. Harry, you and Fred first.”

“Alright Harry?” grinned Fred, picking up his broom and sauntering over. “Ready for me to sweep the floor with you?”

“As if,” returned Harry, his lips twitching up into an almost-smile at the awful pun. He did feel better after getting a bit more sleep (not that he was telling Ron and Hermione this) but the fact still stood that his first ever quidditch match was tomorrow. It would take a lot more than a nap and a bad broom joke to get him over his nerves.

“Loser does eleven extra laps, on _foot_ ,” cheered Wood, suddenly appearing next to them with a manic smile. Fred exchanged a tolerably amused look with George who was slouched against one of the Quidditch poles and calling:

“Go Harry go!”

“Sorry, old sport,” sighed Fred. “But I’m not doing extra exercise if _I_ can help it.”

Wood raised his hand, his bright and feverish eyes promising a gruelling training session to come. “Three, two, one, go!”

And suddenly the pitch was filled with two high-pitched, whistling toots.

Harry looked down at his broom handle  as he raced along, expression incredulous as a trilling ‘ _breet_ ’ hooted out beneath him. It sort of sounded like the squeal of a rubber chicken but much more prolonged. Like it had been stuck in a blender on high speed.

“What the hell?” He heard Fred mutter next to him, seemingly also startled to have a similarly tone-deaf singing broomstick under him.

Harry and Fred looked at each other, still flying neck and neck. A slow grin over took Fred’s face and he sped up a bit.

‘ _BreeEEEEEEEEEEEEEET!'_

Harry laughed and sped up too, his own broom making an even higher pitched noise.

Further up on the pitch, the rest of the Gryffindor Quidditch team watched as the two shot across the field. The squealing hoots coming from them changing from high pitch to low as they shot past. There was a moment of silence before  laughter erupted through the team. A few more tooting squeals started to sound out as Angelina and George both took flight, laughing at the sound of their own brooms, and started racing around too.

And in no time whatsoever, the whole team was up in the air.

Alicia Spinnet and Katie Bell were slowing and speeding up high above, trying to change the tone of their booms to make a garbled, tooting version of a Wyrd Sisters song. George Weasley was conducting them from below. Fred, Angelina and Harry were racing as fast as they could around the pitch, making as much noise as they could. And Oliver Wood stood in the middle of the pitch, staring incredulously at the semi-transparent kazoo he’d just unstuck from the bottom of his broom.

 

When Harry came back from training that evening, arm in arm with George and Angelina, and see-through kazoo clamped between his lips, Hermione couldn’t stop the grin overtaking her face.

 

* * *

 

Hermione’s sense of humour was at an all time low, but, on the other hand, her anxiety was at an all time high. Watching one of her best friends doing the broom buckaroo over a hundred feet in the air seemed to do that to her. Distantly, she heard people screaming and shouting but it was muffled. As if it was coming from another room. Then Hagrid said something about Harry’s broom and she shook off her tunnel vision to focus on his words. 

“Can’t nothing interfere with a broomstick except powerful dark magic- no kid could do that with a Nimbus two thousand.”

No kid could do it but what about an _adult_? Professor Snape! What if Rob and Harry were right about Snape?!

Not wanting to waste even a single moment asking permission, Hermione grabbed Hagrid’s binoculars and crammed her face into them.

 “It’s Snape! He’s doing something- jinxing the the broom.”

“What should we do?” Ron exclaimed, voice high with panic.

“Leave it to me.” And Hermione was gone, half tripping, half running as she rushed through the stands.

Through her head, spell after spell flashed and flickered. Everything she had ever heard of or used. She could Engorgio his nose, making it so big it would block his sight, or use mobiliarbus to wrap his cloak round his head, but they could both easily be dispelled with a finite which she didn’t yet know how to cast or counteract.  Tarantallegra would only cause his feet to dance, not a problem for eye contact if he sat down or, again, cast finite. She _could_ use the curse of the bogges to block his sight or immobulus to freeze but she would have to be able to cast it at a closer distance to get his whole body, which she didn’t want to risk doing. Not to mention she’d never practiced those spells with a living target before. If only she knew some way of shielding Harry, or an irreversable way to obscure Snape’s eye contact so he couldn’t-

_'Of course!_  ' Hermione thought to herself as she hurtled up the teacher’s stand, and almost smacking herself on the head for her idiocy. It was _obvious_ she should use a smokescreen spell! She had only practised the minor form of it before, when devising a potential large prank in Myrtle’s bathroom, and it had worked fine there. But this needed much more power than that used to fill a bathroom full of smoke.

“Fumos Maxima,” she whispered from behind the bleachers, bracing herself against one of the wooden support beams as a thick wave of grey smoke cannoned out of her wand, pushing her back with a bruisingly hard knock-back. There were cries of alarm and lots of angry shouts as the teachers scrambled around and tried to find the source of the smoke, but Hermione was already running back, stopping only long enough to hurriedly cast her bluebell flames on the back of Snape’s cloak. Just in case.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry about the delay on this chapter! I've been putting a lot of focus on the other fic I'm currently writing for and have only just now edited this into something I can share with the public. Not beta-read so if you spot any mistakes, please let me know :)

* * *

 

Hermione liked Hagrid. She had done so since she first met him ( _properly_ met him and not just followed him across the lake.) He had shaken her hand, beamed down at her and gave her a well-meaning, if rather overcooked, scone. He told them stories about the furthest reaches of the forest and the many creatures who lived there, and he listened to their stories about school and all the fantastic things they were learning there. Yes, Hermione liked Hagrid. But this didn’t make her any less frustrated with him.

“He was _definitely_ casting a jinx, Hagrid. I read ‘Jinxing for the Jinxed’ from cover to cover, I know the signs.”

Hagrid gave Hermione a patient yet disbelieving look and poured her some more tea. Hermione fought down the urge to huff with annoyance and tried to exchange an exasperated look with Harry. ‘ _Tried’_ being the word of choice here, since Harry was giving her a look already. It was a curious, confused look.

“Why’d you do that?” He asked, but luckily at that point Ron distracted him by loudly agreeing with Hermione’s assessment on their ‘slimy-headed’ Professor and arguing once more that he was trying to get past Fluffy.

_Honestly_ , Hermione didn’t know why Hagrid thought Fluffy was an appropriate name for a viciously territorial Cerberus. She _also_ didn’t know how or _why_ Hagrid got a creature like that in the first place. There were probably a lot of things she wasn’t going to know by the end of the day.

“Look you three, this is none of your concern. What that dog is guarding is between Albus Dumbledore and Nicolas Flamel.”

But she was going to try her damn hardest to find them out.

 

* * *

 

Hermione’s pranks were put on a semi-permanent hiatus during the next few weeks after Hagrid’s slip of the tongue. Any and all spare time she, Harry and Ron had was spent researching the mysterious Flamel. It really didn’t help that Harry kept on telling them he’d heard of the man before but couldn’t recall from where. For goodness sake! She should have bought Harry a memory game for Christmas instead of all those wizard sweets.

Hermione would just have to place her hopes on them continuing their research over Christmas, now she had returned home. To be honest, she had been pleasantly surprised by the two boys’ determination to scour the library; especially Harry, who seemed almost fervent in his need to solve this mystery. Given that he had almost been killed by it, Hermione couldn’t say she blamed him. She herself found her thoughts still drifting towards that Halloween and Harry’s belief that her almost death-by-troll was a diversion for Professor Snape. She tried not to think about that too much though. Unlike Harry, close shaves with death seemed to induce panic attacks in Hermione rather than a determination to study.

Shame.

She shook off these thoughts once more, focusing instead on the scene before her. It was Christmas and she was at home, she shouldn’t be thinking of near-death experiences. She turned her attention back to her fascinating read of ‘Important Modern Magical Discoveries’ which Harry had ordered her for Christmas, making the occasional note in the parchment notebook that had been Ron’s present.  

It was a nice and calm morning. The Grangers were all quietly sitting together, relaxing in the warm peace. Her father was sat a few feet away, next to the fire, trying to cram as many chestnuts onto one skewer as possible. He was humming ‘Rudolf the Red Nosed Reindeer’ and wearing the jumper Hermione had bought for him. He was under strict instructions only to wear it in the house, due both to the garish colour combination and the fact that there were several reindeer prancing along the wool. Her dad took this to mean he ought to wear it at every given moment in the house instead, even when next to a roaring fire. Hermione had given her mother a similarly magical present, this time a scarf with ravens fluttering across it. She was much more sensible about not wearing it in front of a fire but had also exclaimed delight upon opening it.

Hermione’s mum was sat next to her on the sofa, reading a book. Her dark hair was loose of its bun for once and tumbling down past her shoulders in cascades of corkscrew curls. Her parents both called Hermione a miniature version of her Mum, but Hermione certainly didn’t see that today. She was coming to realise she was more like her dad than she thought. Not _entirely_ in looks (for while she had his eyes, her Dad had much darker skin and a more aquiline nose that looked nothing like hers) but in terms of sense of humour? They were clearly cut from the same cloth.

She hadn’t yet told her Mum about the practical jokes. She hadn’t even told her dad about _all_ of them. He found the googily eyes and kazoo trick funny and Hermione found herself beaming. Her mum probably wouldn’t approve though, so Hermione was trying to think of the best way to explain her new hobby without receiving the Disapproving Look. Dad had been supportive though and that was enough for now. He even later suggested a few pranks of his own, presenting Hermione with an idea, a pack of instant Mac and cheese and an awfully cheesy grin. Again, this wouldn’t do for M’s big prank, but Hermione took it gratefully none the less. She had spent a large portion of the holiday already thinking up a variety of pranks and practical jokes she could implement. None of them felt big enough to justify a signature though. At least, none that wouldn’t get her into heaps of trouble.

“Mint, Hermione?”

Absentmindedly, Hermione’s hand drifted towards the proffered box of After Eights that her Dad had waved at her.

“Don’t you think she’s had enough sugar?” Asked her Mum, pulling her nose from her hefty book to level them both a soft, disapproving look. Dad smiled and shrugged, standing up and sauntering over to give her a quick peck on the cheek.

“It’s Christmas, honey. Minny just needs to make sure to brush her teeth this evening and she could have as much sugar as she likes.”

The mint froze on its journey to Hermione’s mouth.

“…What did you say?”

Her dad blinked then grinned, wide and toothily, “I mean it, as much sugar as you like. Sugar mice and candy canes galore!”

“No, no, I meant- wait. I’ve got to go look something up,” and Hermione was off, mint still in hand as she shot up to her bedroom and the huge stack of books she’d collected there, missing the bewildered looks her parents shared behind her.

It wasn’t ten minutes later before Hermione came rushing back down the stairs, hands covered in forgotten melted chocolate and eyes glowing with fervent enthusiasm.

“Do we have any recipes for mints?” 

It turned out that Hermione’s parents _did_ have a few recipes for mints. They also had a few questions too, but, in her excitement, she barely heard what they had to say beyond where the recipes could be found.

The rest of the holiday was spent surrounded by both books and a variety of homemade mints, with the exception of one rather excitable visit to Diagonally to spend Hermione’s Christmas money on a bundle of potions ingredients.

“Maw for focus on the mouth, then salt or saltpetre for purifying,” Hermione murmured later that night, looking over the supplies laid out in her bedroom. She hadn’t been sure whether to use Shrake spines, porcupine quills or nettles for cleansing part so she bought all three using some of her savings to supplement the cost. She had also bought several ingredients used for the famed Zygmunt Budge’s beautification potion which she was planning to base her creation on. In all, she felt rather excited to get back to Hogwarts and get started with her new project, assured that she was quite prepared to face the challenge.

 

* * *

 

Hermione hadn’t been prepared.

Myrtle was cackling somewhere over her head, or perhaps from behind, her translucent head peeping through the door and watching as she threw up. Egg whites and Shrake spines were apparently not a good mix. Nowhere in any of her potion books did it say that. Why didn’t it say that anywhere? Perhaps she shouldn’t be doing this. This was a stupid idea. She could really hurt herself. Hermione wretched once again, then twice more before she slumped back against the door of the stall. She could just give up. She _should_ just give up.

…But what if she replaced the Shrake spines with nettles? It could drastically reduce the nausea and would definitely get rid of the slow stirring issue. Several of the other ingredients needed a swift and firm movement of the spoon to get the best effect, counter stirring twice to account for the moondew and ginger root combination, whereas Shrake spines needed _five_ counter-stirs. Nettles were much less fussy in terms of stirring and timing, if less strong in effect. She could also use Snakeweed to reduce any digestive issues, as long as-

Hermione stopped pondering for a moment to scramble up to the toilet again as another wave of nausea washed over her. Moaning Myrtle burst into another cackle of laughter, now floating upside down directly above her head. Yes, something to help the stomach was a must, but this time she was going to research its combination with other ingredients with the **_upmost care_.** 

Unfortunately, time for research was in short supply. Especially since Harry and Ron hadn’t discovered who Flammel was over Christmas, and, what was worse, had been galavanting around the school in _an invisibility cloak of all things!_ What if they’d been caught? What if they’d been _expelled_?! She couldn’t stand the idea of her friends being in trouble like that.

The invisibility cloak was fascinating though. It felt like water, looked almost like it too, at least until Harry put it on.

“I know, it’s cool right!” Grinned Ron on the bed across from her as they watched Harry’s head bob in a sheepish way. Hermione clicked her lower jaw back into place and jumped up from Harry’s bed.

“Curious,” she murmured, circling around it and carefully inspecting the area around Harry’s neck. It would have looked like someone had neatly chopped of his head (and animated it to grin in a Harry-like way) if not for the way the base of his neck was clearly blocked off from sight instead of showing the inside of his throat. This didn’t make the whole thing any less disconcerting for Hermione though. She pushed this feeling down however to focus on the more interesting aspect.

“How’s this made even? I know about disillusionment spells, but you don’t even have an outline! There must be a combination of spells in effect here. Perhaps even a potion? I would have to research to be-”

“Hermione. It’s an invisibility cloak. People keep those sorts of things hushed up or everyone would be making them.”

Hermione didn’t even bother to send Ron a withering glare at that, instead holding a corner of Harry’s cloak and watching her hand disappear with wide eyes and a growing smile.

 

* * *

 

Things became _even_ more busy for Hermione after that. Discovering about the Philosopher’s Stone, researching potion ingredients, studying for exams, dealing with the increasing quantities of homework and pursuing her own personal research into invisibility cloaks did eat up spare time after all. Add on top of that Hagrid’s surprise dragon and Malfoy’s subtle threats, and you had a recipe for an overworked and overstressed Hermione.

Even with her packed schedule, she still managed to use the Mac and cheese prank for April’s fools day, much to her Dad’s delight when she sent him a letter detailing Ron’s disgusted surprise upon draining a glass of salty, cheesy paste-water and not the pumpkin juice he’d been expecting. Harry had taken a curious sip after watching this reaction, bewildered by the weird taste but grinning at Hermione’s disapproving raving about the switcharoo.

She didn’t stop at _just_ that for April fools though. No sir, she was going all out. She had woken up two hours earlier than usual to get everything set up in time.

First, there had been the horn prank, where Hermione had cast a tricky piece of magic, which she called the ‘foghorn charm’ to the bottom step of the stairs to the boy’s dormitories. Soon, a gaggle of Gryffindors were gathered at the bottom to laugh at each person who near jumped clean out of their skins at the noise. She could hear the laughter all the way up from her bed, at least until a furious Percy Weasley stormed down and finited her charm away.

Then, there had been the short-term hair colour charms. Hermione had grown quite good at whispered incantations. The trick was saying them loudly in your head at the same time. Therefore no one noticed as she attached several of these charms to a number of Gryffindors so that when they next touched their hair it would flash a range of colours. It was a bit hard to cast these as it took a while and a fair bit of energy to cast correctly. So, she only chose a few people to do this too, and only ones who she knew would find it amusing. Lee Jordan and Angelina Johnson, in particular, seemed to get a kick out of sporting bubble gum pink and apple red hairdos.

The Great hall was where she placed her favourite pranks, the aforementioned mac and cheese juice, several flowerpots of water squirting flowers (which she noticed Neville enjoy immensely) and the gummy worms.

Those had been surprisingly easy to produce. Her subscription to ‘Challenges in Charming’ had proven extremely useful in providing the very charm she needed.

“Mirum vermis,” she had whispered earlier that morning into the sack of muggle gummy worms, before placing thirty of her wiggling little creations on each table in the hall, ready and waiting for breakfast to be summoned. She had then gone back to bed and proceeded to almost entirely forgot about her little spell in the face of her other successful pranks.

Hermione only remembered when the screaming started.

She had just been taking a small sip of the cheese water at Ron’s goading, when she heard and  caught sight of Draco squealing like a pricked pig at the huge, translucent worm that had popped out of his half eaten apple. Heads turned and whispers echoed, then there was a loud burst of laughter from the Hufflepuff table as one of the third years stood up with one of the sweets crawling across his face. He grinned at the people laughing around him at his sweetie moustache before picking it off and eating it.

It then became a bit of a race for each of the tables to find the gummy worms, bursts of laughter coming from all around as students held up the dancing sweets for everyone to see.

“Fred and George have really outdone themselves this time,” laughed Harry, tearing his eyes away from the flushed, blustering Malfoy to watch as Dean Thomas used one of the squirting flowers to wash the crumbs off his gummy worm.  

“How do you know it’s them?” Asked Hermione, looking up from the book she had been using to cover her grin.

“Has to be them. It’s their birthday,” reasoned Ron, much to Hermione’s surprise.

“Unless someone’s celebrating Aprils Fool’s day,” Harry said with a small shrug, obviously not believing his own words.

“April _what’s_ day?”

Hermione felt her good mood deflate and turned around to see Fred and George further down the table, looking around with contrasting expressions of surprise. One looked pleasantly startled, grinning good naturedly and shaking his head as people tossed congratulations and their sticky worm sweets at him. The other was smiling too but not at anyone in particular. He was scanning the Gryffindor table up and down with a faint frown, as if searching for something. Hermione quickly turned away, but this only resulted in her catching sight of a furious looking Filch glaring at the Weasley twins, and a rather exasperated Professor McGonagall sending them a look too.

 

* * *

 

After April Fool’s day, Hermione’s research into her mint potion was her main priority. She had managed to solve the vomiting issue by using the nettles and Snakeweed. She had also replaced the half cup of salt with a small pinch of saltpetre fillings which was much more effective and less volatile when combined with the maw, especially when allowed to brew at a lower heat. The problem now wasn’t the throwing up. It was simply that the result wasn’t quite as she expected:

Hermione forced a toothy grin towards her reflection in the mirror. The reflection grinned back; its lips parted over see-through teeth. She was glad she had used rose thorns rather than rose petals now, otherwise she was sure she would be stuck with glass teeth for much longer than the hour this potion would last... she _hoped_.

To her right, Myrtle was laughing hysterically. Hermione’s lips twitched and she looked back at the mirror at her growing gummy, granny-like grin, and was startled to find herself laughing too.

She wasn’t there yet, but it was only a matter of time until the whole school would be laughing along with her. She couldn’t wait!


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry for those lovely people who've read, kudosed and commented on this fic. I've been rather awful at keeping this updated!   
> As a thanks to you (and as an apology for how short this chapter is) I'm going to a double update and put up another part this evening (in UK time)  
> I hope you enjoy :)

* * *

 

The laughter had been stopped. Hermione was no longer smiling. Neither were Harry or Ron.

Hermione sat in the Gryffindor common room, silent and ignored. Harry sat next to her, head down and transfiguration textbook balanced on his lap. It was clear as day he wasn’t reading it. His hands were clenched tightly on the binding and his eyes were steady and still. Behind them, Hermione could hear the quiet whispers and feel the heated glares. Most of them weren’t directed at her… but some were. Hermione looked back down.

She… she could deal with this sort of thing. To be ignored and disliked? She knew how to deal with it, how to suck yourself in and focus on something else.  She wasn’t upset. She could deal with this. They _both_ could.

Harry’s ‘something else’ was exams. Hers was her potions research. She didn’t know why she was still doing it. Each and every one of her plans for pranking and joking had flown away the moment the one hundred and fifty house-points had. And there was no way she was going to risk pulling off a big prank _now_.

But…

That was the thing. The ‘but’, the ‘however’, the little voice quietly whispering in her head that she should keep on going, telling her that she was _so_ close. It whispered to her at night, giving her ideas on how to combine peppermint and ginger, reasoning that simple cookery couldn’t bring her any more trouble than she had already brought down on herself. She wanted to hate that little voice, but the little voice was _her_ , and enough people hated her already. Hermione didn’t need to add herself to the list.

She slipped away each day before breakfast. Harry and Ron didn’t notice. Harry was stuck in his own head and wouldn’t have blinked an eye if Hermione had grown fifty feet and sprouted antlers, and Ron wouldn’t wake up early if you paid him. No one else noticed because no one else cared.

Each day she would wake at five thirty in the morning, get dressed and be out before any of her dorm mates were awake enough to glare at her. She would then have a good hour or so of reading and brewing before meeting Harry and Ron for breakfast. Friday was her testing day so she would have the weekend to reverse any ill effects in case something went wrong.

Beyond the glass teeth incident, very little had gone wrong though. The little voice in Hermione’s head was right. She was close, so close she could taste it. Literally.

It turned out she had just needed to allow the brew to sit for a minimum of one hour before compacting the liquid into a solid form to get rid of the vanishing teeth problem and to give it a useful delay before coming into effect; the time of which depended on how long it was allowed to sit. Hermione decided to create a variety of differently timed mints, reasoning that it would be the best way of having them to activate at a similar time. Combining it with a gentle scourgify had also produced the most fantastic bubbling effect that Hermione would have to replicate when she… she… 

There was a soft plink sound as water dropped out of one of the nearby taps. Distantly, the clamour of hurried footsteps and cheerful chatter could be heard outside of the little bathroom she had holed herself away in. Hermione let the mint cakes drop out of her hands and back into the cauldron with a soft thunk, before turning away and leaning over one of the nearby sinks.  

This was stupid. Gryffindor was in last place, Harry, Ron and Neville were miserable and everyone (when they could be bothered to remember her existence) hated her. She couldn’t do it. She _wouldn’t_ do it. Hermione let out a long, tense breath and forced a smile onto her face. It had been a foolish idea anyway. As if anyone would have liked it. Why on earth did she want to pull practical jokes on people of all things? She should have been focusing on more important things: books, cleverness… and friends.

Hermione turned and collected her things together, marching back to the common room. She only looked back the once.

 

* * *

 

The mints were packed away into her trunk along with her extra potion ingredients, and Hermione told herself that she had forgotten all about them. In truth, she thought about the combination of the different ingredients almost every day. Her mind had been engraved with the routine of puzzling out strategies for pranks and a rather challenging potions riddle for many months. Now that all her brain had to occupy itself with was revision, she found herself _bored_ of all things!

The exams were important though and Hermione wanted to put her best foot forward, so she continued to lay out study plans and kindly but firmly bully Harry and Ron into remembering as much as they could. With her and Harry being in so much trouble, they _definitely_ couldn’t afford to do poorly. To be kicked out of Hogwarts; it was Hermione’s worst fear.

Bar one.

“If Snape gets hold of the Stone, Voldemort’s coming back! Haven’t you heard what it was like when he was trying to take over?”

It was a fear Hermione never knew she had until that very moment. Sat in the cozy Gryffindor common room with a toasty fire roaring beside her and a squashy overstuffed chair beneath her, she shouldn’t have been shivering. But she was.

Harry was going to go after Snape. Harry was going after He Who Must Not Be Named. He didn’t care about losing points or the house cup. He didn’t care about dying. He cared about everything _else_. He cared about his parents, about his friends and about doing the right thing.

_Oh Harry._

“You’re right Harry,” she whispered, before glancing over at Ron. His skin was pale and pasty. His eyes almost bulged from their sockets as he shook his head but not in disbelief. Ron would believe his friend if he proclaimed that he was the queen of England, Merlin reborn or had just found out an infamous evil dictator was about to rise from the dead….

Hermione lost her train of thought at that. She focused instead on Ron and how he gulped down his fear and met her gaze. She knew there and then that Harry wouldn’t be going alone.

Honestly, she wasn’t sure why Harry acted surprised when she and Ron said as much. There was no way she would let a friend do something so dangerous alone.  There was no way Harry would get the stone without help, and Hermione was good at helping.


	6. Chapter 6

* * *

 

 _Has Ron always been this heavy?_ Hermione thought as she lugged her gangly friend up another flight of stairs and into the main entrance hall. It was silent but for Hermione’s heavy breathing and Ron’s heavy, limping steps. Neither of them were talking, both focusing intently on moving as fast as they could. They _needed_ to get to the owlery and fast. This didn’t mean that Hermione had stopped thinking though. It was hard to get her mind silent even on a normal day.

_Why doesn’t Hogwarts have mandatory exercise sessions? I mean it can’t be healthy for people to eat as much as they want at each meal then be stuck sitting down in class all day. Ron’s going to get fat at this rate._

Ron hissed out a breath beside her, his hand brushing against his head and coming back red. He quickly wiped his hand on his trousers, but Hermione saw.

…She supposed there _was_ exercise in the form of flying lessons, but that wasn’t near enough to burn off the surplus’s calories.

 _Unless you’re in the Quidditch teams like Har-_ Hermione felt her breath stutter and Ron glanced over at her, expression concerned.

“We’re not far off,” she forced herself to say, smiling tightly. Ron didn’t smile back but he nodded and put forth a new burst of energy. It only lasted until they got across the hall, before waning at the foot of the stairs.

 _There **really** should be a jogging club or something, _Hermione forced herself to think before taking a deep breath and taking the first step.

 ** _BANG_**.

Hermione dropped Ron’s arm from her shoulder and span around, eyes wild and hands scrabbling for her wand. Beside her, Ron had pulled out his wand too, swaying slightly without Hermione’s support. But it wasn’t a resurrected He Who Must Not Be Named as they feared. It wasn’t even Snape coming to swoop down on them, curses heavy on his sneering lips.

It was Dumbledore, and he was _terrifying_. He still looked like their headmaster. He still had wrinkles and age spots. He still had a bushy white beard and his famous eye-wateringly bright robes. But he wasn’t smiling. It made a difference. 

“Harry’s gone after him, hasn’t he?” he said, staring at them both for a brief, heart-stopping moment. His blue eyes looked like ice without their usual good-humoured twinkle. And then he was gone, sweeping past the two, back the way they came, at a speed Hermione had never even considered him to be capable of. It was in that moment, with Ron slumping down against her side and the sound of hurried footsteps echoing in the distance, that Hermione made a promise to herself.

She was never going to prank Professor Dumbledore.

**Ever.**

 

* * *

 

Jubilance filled the air. Rumours spread like the wind of a hurricane, sweeping through every crevice of every room, leaving students everywhere dazed, flushed and a little bit windswept. Cheers were called, celebrations were held and Ron and Hermione were getting grins and high fives at every turn (the later of which an embarrassed Hermione found herself actively trying to avoid). In truth, Harry was missing the best of it, stuck in bed. Which was a shame, given how awfully he had been getting on with everyone before. He didn’t seem upset when they told him all this though. Surrounded by cards and presents, he looked positively tiny. But his grin when they visited had been pure Harry through and through. Genuinely, this was the happiest Hermione had ever seen Hogwarts. Everyone was smiling.

“ ** _I know it was you!_** ”

Well, almost everyone.

Filch didn’t usually look happy, even on a good day. With his bulging eyes, gritted yellow teeth forever set in a snarl and stubbly, frown-lined jaw, he looked to be in a permanent state of dissatisfied fury. Today, he had all of that and more. His hands were clenched into clawlike fists. His eyes were twitching as if there were a horde of fleas stuck under his lower lids.  His wheezing breathing was ragged with rage and could be heard even from across the hall where Hermione was just exiting the medical wing.

“Whatever it is, we didn’t do-” started one of the twins.

 _Perhaps George,_ Hermione thought, given that the other twin was currently laughing and not even trying to get out of trouble. It fit in with what Ron had told (moaned to) her about the two.

“You two have been a thorn in my side all this year. Plastic littering! Defiling the great hall! And now blowing up school property! I’ll see you expelled I will!”

“We did no such thing!” Exclaimed Fred, still laughing but trying his best to follow George’s lead. He held his hand up to his chest and gave a mock expression of shock. “Why I never! You can’t go around blaming random people for blowing up toilets. It’s uncivilised.”

Hermione winced, as did George. Filch smiled. It was not a nice smile.

“Who said anything about toilets, eh?”

“…Ah,” said Fred.

“Well, it’s not like taking points will make any difference at this point,” George said, nonchalantly checking his nails.

“Wanna go to the lake and see if the giant squid is celebrating Harry’s victory?” Asked Fred, turning around with George to leave.

“Detention!” Bellowed Filch, fury outlining every shaking, wrinkled feature of his face at their impertinent dismissal.

“What, at this time of year? We’re leaving tomorrow. When are you-” Fred cut off at the subtle elbow to the gut George gave him but it was too late. Filch was smiling again. The twins looked warily at said smile and Hermione didn’t blame them.

“Tomorrow, 9 am, in the _dungeons_. Professor Snape will be glad to have help cleaning out the rotten ingredients from the store cupboards,” Filch sighed happily before turning and limping away, presumably in search of Professor Snape.

Fred and George stared after him, then gave each other a look that appeared to be a mix of frustration and resignment.

“Last time I let you try and talk us out of something,” sighed George, wrapping an arm over Fred’s neck and messing up his flyaway hair.

Hermione quickly walked the other way from the two, not wanting for them to see her and realise she’d been eavesdropping. Her smile was gone now, replaced instead by a thoughtful frown. The toilet had _definitely_ been their fault. Harry had told her the twins had tried to send him a toilet seat, which he found funny. The plastic littering on the other hand had been her, hadn’t it? And the defiling of the Great Hall… well that was probably both her _and_ Fred and George. She wished now that she had just signed the gummy worm pranks as M, but she just hadn’t expected people to enjoy it that much. She thought it would maybe get a giggle or two and that’d be it.

 _No time like the present_ , Hermione thought with a small smile. George was right, it wasn’t like loosing points mattered much now. They weren’t going to win the cup in a million years. She might as well celebrate their victory against You Know Who, clear the Weasley twin’s names and spread more good cheer all in one fell swoop.

Hermione turned on her heal, heading up to her dormitory where a cauldron full of mint cakes were awaiting her. Of course, it wasn’t nearly enough for what she had planned. She would have to get started right away if she was going to have this really in time for breakfast tomorrow. Hermione skipped happily as she went to work.


	7. Chapter 7

* * *

 

Merlin's saggy pants, did George hate the dungeons. Actually no, hate was too light a word. He  _loathed_  the dungeons,  _detested_  them. He really wanted to set a pack of ravenous pixies off in there and watch them terrorise the Slytherins or get tangled up in Snape's greasy locks. But he wouldn't. First off, Snape would kill him. Secondly, it would piss off the house elves and he wouldn't be able to get to the kitchen anymore. And thirdly, Snape would  _kill_  him and then go after every other Weasley in the school, starting with Fred.

George had no doubts that, if he got the idea in his head, Fred would do it anyway, consequences be damned. As a result, George decided to keep his more violent dreams locked up in the darkest corners of his mind and out of Fred's sticky fingers. Not that this method always worked. They both had a habit of reading into each other's wavelengths, which generally resulted in a lot of fun, but that wasn't point.

The point was: George didn't want to mess with Snape any more than he had to. Been there, done that, served the detentions. This wasn't even one of the worst ones. Snape wasn't looming or sneering or  _anything_. He was just sat at his desk as they worked, marking potion bottles while they sorted through which beetle eyes were mouldy and which were good for another year. Like Snape wasn't going to do the whole job again after they left anyway. He didn't trust them to do a job right any more than they trusted him to be a good teacher. George did the task properly though. He could just see the slimy bastard keeping them back if they botched the job and he wanted to go to the end of term feast, even if it  _was_  going to be covered in green.

George glanced over at Fred who briefly met his gaze before looking over at Snape again with a considering frown. George glanced over, starting to frown too. It  _was_  odd how Snape wasn't berating them, wasn't it? He looked pensive and somewhat withdrawn today. Usually he took a weirdly perverse delight in insulting everything about them from their hair to their freckles, of telling them both they were at the bottom of the dungheap of life or how they were the scum found floating at the top of a rotting barrel of whatever the heck was in these jars.

George pulled a face and pushed the closest mysterious jar of glowing green pickle juice as far away from him as possible. They had been at this for nearly an hour already! He didn't care why Snape seemed to be lost in his own head, he just wanted to be done and out of this stupid, bloody, bugg-

A knock at the door cut George's internal expletives off. He glanced up to see one of Ron's friends standing at the door, all nervous like and armed with an armload of books.

Oh, it was the frizzy, bossy one. The one who was also friends with Harry. She had a name like his as well. What was it again?

"Miss Granger," said Snape, his already icy tone dropping further into sub-zero temperatures with every syllable. He felt Fred's interest perk up beside him, probably at the lethal tone in which Snape spoke. Anyone who managed to piss off Snape was a person of interest to Fred. To George too somewhat, but he had a feeling he knew why Snape didn't like her. It began with 'Gryffin-' and ended with '-dor'. Or maybe 'Har-' and '-ry'

"Sorry to disturb, Professor," said Granger, either oblivious to Snape's glare or simply ignoring it. She spared a brief glance over to George and then Fred, who both must have looked a sorry sight: on the floor and covered in slime and dried insect eyes. Her face didn't give away any sympathy though. George wondered why she was here.

"I was hoping I could ask about my potions score," she continued and George looked back down at the next jar of beetles, rapidly loosing any and all interest in overhearing this conversation. "I was looking over it and was wondering if I could do anything to-"

There was a sudden bang and clatter of falling books, and George's head snapped up just in time to see Hermione collapse backwards into the doorframe, hands clasped over her mouth. For one furious, horrifying moment, George was certain Snape had struck her, and he scrambled to his feet. Fred was a perfect mirror to his left, ready to leap forward into action. But he didn't, instead he suddenly reared back with a choked yelp of surprise, his hands coming up to his mouth too. Both Snape and George watched with wide eyes as multicoloured bubbles frothed out of the two's mouths. Fred stared at George with wide eyes, seemingly more startled than actually hurt.

"What is the  _meaning_  of this?" Hissed Snape, glaring at George who could do nothing but meet his gaze and gape like a goldfish. Snape snorted in disgust and moved forward to wrench Granger's hands away from her mouth.

The bubbles were fading away now, leaving a set of shining red teeth. Wait, no, purple… blue?  _A set of colour changing teeth?_ Granger blinked down at the ground and slowly raised her hands up again as if to feel what had happened. The colourful flashing stopped, to be replaced by a large slanted letter imprinted in gold.

"M?"

Snape jerked back and looked at George as he spoke then turned to Fred who had seemingly recovered too and also had a large M imprinted on his teeth when he touched them. His was blue.

"What the hell?" Said Fred, staring at Granger's teeth which had started to flash again, then to George who shrugged.

There was a sudden clamorous cacophony of shrieks and muffled screams, and Snape swept out of the room with a truly scary look on his face. He didn't even seem to notice he was being followed by George, Fred and the Granger girl. It took George and Fred a grand total of ten seconds to burst into laughter once they processed what it was they were seeing. Slytherins were bursting out of their common room like a clowder of hydrophobic cats clawing their way out of a bath. Foam frothed at some of their mouths, while others stumbled around with blaringly bright teeth, showing the people around them and panicking about whether their teeth were stained for good.

In the chaos, Fred and George were not missed as they made their escape, despite the fact that they were hysterically laughing the whole way.

 

* * *

 

While Snape was busy being besieged by a surge of snivelling Slytherins, Harry was busy staring up at a ceiling. The ceiling didn’t stare back, but if it could, it probably would have given Harry the same look Madam Pomfrey gave him earlier. The sort of bland, I’m not listening to any more of your excuses kind of look. It was probably the beige paint. Something about that colour just felt like an eyebrow being raised.

…Harry was starting to suspect he was going insane from frustration and boredom. 

He sat up once more and swung his legs out of bed, cautiously glancing around for the inevitable swooping of Madam Pomfrey. As of yet, there was none, but Harry doubted he’d get out of there without some serious begging on his part.

Madam Pomfrey had said he’d be able to go to the Great Feast, but it was starting in a few hours and Harry really didn’t want to miss any of it. He also wanted a chance to say goodbye to Hogwarts a bit. He still couldn’t believe the summer was here already. It felt like no time at all while at the same time it was like his whole life had been spent between these stone walls.

_Well, here goes nothing. **Again**. _

Harry took in a deep breath, tried his best to look healthy and approached Madam Pomfrey’s office. Hoping to escape from the threatened last minute (hour) check-ups she’d been threatening him with.

“Ah, Mr Potter. Just in time, I have only a few tests left to-”

“MADAM POMFREY!”

The doors to the medical wing slammed open and twenty or so students rushed in, all gibbering and gabling at the same time and pushing Harry to the side as they bared their teeth at the woman. Harry stared incredulously at their multicoloured grimaces for a moment before subtly edging away to the door. Madam Pomfrey, who was quickly whipping out her wand to perform diagnostic charms, didn’t notice and Harry was able to make his getaway.

Once outside, the extent of the spell gone wrong became clear. At least one in three people, no matter where Harry looked, seemed to be sporting multicoloured teeth. Most often in a smile as they laughingly showed off their colourful grins to each other. Harry snorted and made his way up to the Gryffindor tower, smiling and nodding back at everyone who merrily greeted him along the way. Many were too distracted by the prank to pay him much attention. But not all.

“Harry! Glad to see you on your feet!” Seamus Finnigan grabbed Harry as he made his way through the portrait. “What colour is my ‘M’?” He asked, tapping on his teeth.

“It looks like custard yellow?”

Seamus grinned and moved his hand away, teeth flashing a multitude of colours again.

“Hey, what about mine?” Asked Dean Thomas, coming up to them and tapping his teeth. Harry snorted and Seamus patted his shoulder consolingly.

“Puke green mate.”

“Damn, you think I can get the Weasleys to change it to something else if I ask nice.”

“I heard it wasn’t them. They were in detention all morning,” said Seamus in a conspiring tone, as if this was some big secret.

“Ah, makes sense why it’s an ‘M’ not a ‘W’ then. Looks like we’ve got some new prankers on the scene!” Dean laughed. Harry grinned and shook his head.

“Percy’s gonna have a heart attack when he figures that one out.”

Both Seamus and Dean laughed as Ron joined them from the dormitory, hair a mess but teeth normal. He grinned at Harry, obviously pleased to see him up on his feet again.

“Alright there, Harry?”

“Yeah, you?”

“Absolutely terrible! How come I didn’t get any flashing teeth?” He moaned with a good-natured smile.

“Haven’t you figured it out yet?”

And there was Hermione, easily spotted by her lion-mane hair and condescending tone. Harry grinned at the sight of her, especially when she opened her mouth to speak again and he caught sight of purple and green teeth flashing into silver and blue.

“It was the mints at breakfast. They had ‘M’ on them.”

All the boys went wide eyed and let out a chorus of ‘ _oh’s_ at which Hermione simply rolled her eyes and sighed.


	8. Chapter 8

* * *

 

Hermione was right, as ever. The tables were all set out with house colours and golden gleaming plates and cutlery, ready for the first trickles of students to make their way in and tickle their taste buds with an array of little starters. No mints were to be seen.

Hermione glanced around, smiling as she noticed the hordes of Gryffindors, Hufflepuffs, Ravenclaws and even the odd Slytherin, all chattering happily about the colours on their teeth.

“How come your teeth aren’t flashing anymore, Hermione?” Asked Lavender as the remnants of the first course melted away to be replaced with crispy potatoes, juicy roast chickens and thick slabs of Shepard’s pie.

“I brushed them,” Hermione answered before waving her hand to indicate the large number of Slytherins who had apparently done the same. “Besides, it looks like the prank would have faded away in a couple of hours anyway.”

True to her words, many of the colourful smiles had faded somewhat with the multicoloured ‘M’s flashing more feebly now.

“I bet by the time everyone has got back on the train, they’ll be gone. A good thing too.”

She didn’t want any muggles catching sight of flashing teeth and for her prank to involve the government. She wasn’t ready for that level of trouble. (Yet)

“C’mon Hermione, liven up,” Ron sighed, picking up some crunchy bread and slathering it with butter and gravy. “Can’t believe you brushed that off. You wouldn’t know a good joke if it bit you on the nose.”

Hermione huffed but didn’t grace him with a response, instead turning to the rest of the table as they ploughed through the last parts of the feast. “Do you think whoever was behind this will own up?”

“Wouldn’t they get in trouble?” Asked Neville.

“I don’t think so,” said Harry grinning suddenly as he caught sight of the teachers table.

Hermione went pale.

Dumbledore had a multicoloured smile, he was showing it off to an irritated looking Professor McGonagall and looking extremely delighted by the whole thing.

Hermione quickly looked away and took a bracing gulp of tea, hand shaking and making the cup clatter against her teeth.

“I think Fred and George are more interested in catching them than the teachers. They’ve been asking around all day,” commented Ron, missing Hermione’s odd reaction. “I bet they’ll want to team up or something.”

The group of Gryffindors considered this for a moment before collectively shuddering. All except for Hermione who had swallowed her drink down wrong.

“Percy’ll move schools,” said Harry, leaning over to lightly thump Hermione on the back.

“You’re right,” mused Ron, pulling a face. “Bloody hell, if this M is the one who did all those pranks this year _and_ they join forces with those two, even I might run off.”

Hermione frowned, finally calming down her coughing fit, and waving at the two of them to be quiet.

Dumbledore was making to stand.

“Another year gone!” He cheerfully exclaimed. “And I must trouble you with an old man’s wheezing waffle before we sink our _colourful_ teeth into the rest of our feast.”

There was a spatter if laughter and Hermione ducked her head down, hiding her embarrassed but happy flush with curtains of frizzy hair. Her head stayed down as Dumbledore’s speech turned towards house-points and the green décor filling the great hall. She dared not look up for fear of seeing those happy smiles that had been directed her way turn to frowns and glares.

“However, recent events must be taken into account.”

Hermione’s head snapped up. So did Ron and Harry’s.

Apprehension turned to disbelief as Ron was given fifty house-points for his chess match. Disbelief turned to joy as Hermione herself was given the same number of house-points for her besting Snape’s potion riddle. And joy turned to jubilation as both Harry and Neville were awarded enough house-points for Gryffindor to win the house cup.

The din was unbelievable. Hermione’s head was ringing with cheers and joyous screams. Her face ached her the smile and she didn’t care. She smiled until it hurt to and then she kept on smiling anyway.

What a fantastic end to a fantastic year! It had been everything she had hoped for and so, _so_ much more.

Yes, there had been moments of loneliness and heart stopping terror.

Hermione didn’t care.

Yes, there was a risk of being caught now the Professors would be looking out for M more thoroughly.

Hermione _didn’t_ care.

And yes, Fred and George and Filch and probably loads of others would be looking too, watching out for the smallest hint of who M was.

_Hermione did not care_.

She wasn’t going to get caught. She was going to be the best she could be. She wouldn’t rely on potions for her anonymity next year. She would look into nonverbal spells and ways to hide her magical signature during summer. She would use that time to devise a whole new slew of dazzling tricks. She grinned at the thought of upping her game, already looking forward to the expressions on her friends’ faces.

Next year was going to be brilliant and Hermione couldn’t wait.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey :) thanks for reading to the end of this fic. Am currently debating whether I should do any sequals for this fic as I have some ideas. But I've also got a lot of other projects on the table as well so it may be a while if I decide to do it xxx


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